


all the things your lungs do so well

by bellafarallones



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Secret Identity, consensual violent fantasies, superhero and supervillain have intense emotions big surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellafarallones/pseuds/bellafarallones
Summary: Indrid knew that wound. He’d put it there, less than half an hour ago, though he hadn’t meant it to be so deep. The Ranger had had him cornered and had moved forward at exactly the wrong moment into his slashing claw. Indrid hadn’t felt too guilty about it at the time; the Ranger always seemed invulnerable. But seeing that slash now, on Duck’s chest, meant…It meant the man Indrid had been friends with for almost a year now, half in-love with for almost as long, and his superhero nemesis were one and the same.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	all the things your lungs do so well

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes... being nemeses.... is the most intensely sexy relationship any two people can have. title from "every other freckle" by alt-j, one of the best horny songs i know.

It was past midnight, and Indrid was still on high alert, still coursing with adrenaline from the fight he’s just not-quite-lost. 

Heavy footsteps in his tiny apartment made him jump, and he didn’t believe what his visions told him. He crept soundlessly down the hall from his bedroom, and when he reached the doorway of the bathroom, he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t been alarmed enough to transform.

His visions hadn’t lied. Duck Newton was dripping blood onto the white tile. His chest was ripped open, a flap of skin hanging loose, and he had his tongue out in concentration as he stitched himself up.

Indrid knew that wound. He’d put it there, less than half an hour ago, though he hadn’t meant it to be so deep. The Ranger had had him cornered and had moved forward at exactly the wrong moment into his slashing claw. Indrid hadn’t felt too guilty about it at the time; the Ranger always seemed invulnerable. But seeing that slash now, on Duck’s chest, meant… 

It meant the man Indrid had been friends with for almost a year now, half in-love with for almost as long, and his superhero nemesis were one and the same. It made perfect sense, in retrospect. The only way a man like Duck, a hero like the Ranger, would want to be friends with someone like Indrid was as opposition research.

Duck jumped when he noticed Indrid looking at him. “Shit, ‘Drid, didn’t see you standing there. Uh, sorry about all the blood. I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

“What are you doing here?”

Duck must have misunderstood the hollowness in Indrid’s voice, the surprise in his eyes. “Oh, uh, yeah, I had a bad run-in with a… feral cat? Definitely a feral cat, definitely nothing bigger than that, nothing you need to be concerned about… anyway your apartment was closest and I, uh, really didn’t want to take the subway dripping blood.”

Indrid believed that Duck was here because it was the most convenient place to patch up his wound, but the rest of it was obviously a lie. How stupid did he think Indrid was? 

At least Duck wasn’t wearing his costume - that was probably the black duffel bag on the floor at his feet. Duck hissed in pain. His hands were shaking, slippery on the needle from the blood. 

Indrid wanted to get closer, because if a day ago Duck, _his_ Duck, had been hurt he would have. He would have burned down the city if it meant Duck was safe. That was one of the good things about being a villain, you could admit to yourself that the greater good could get fucked.

But the Ranger had this handled, and probably wouldn’t want the person who’d hurt him touching him anyway, so Indrid backed out of the room and returned to bed.

\--

Light-headed from blood loss, Duck wanted to follow, wanted to slip into Indrid’s bed uncaring of the blood he smeared on the sheets and stay there until everything stopped hurting. Thankfully he restrained himself.

Showing up at Indrid’s apartment injured had been a bad idea, even if the first-aid kit here was surprisingly comprehensive. Duck had only visited once before, for a movie night, and tonight he had… a little bit broken in. If you could call it that. He hadn’t broken anything. Just climbed up the fire escape and through the unlocked window.

He’d thought Indrid would be asleep and he could get in and out unnoticed, or that Indrid would wake up and freak out. Neither of those things had happened. Indrid had woken up, seen him, and _not cared._

Duck had first encountered Indrid doing his day job as a park ranger. Indrid had been sitting on a bench, drawing the trees, and Duck stopped to talk. Indrid was an artist and he had fine, delicate features and a smile you never wanted to stop looking at.

Duck was smitten. He’d showed Indrid where the rare flowers were and bought him dinner once, then twice, then three times. It was all as friends, of course. Duck knew that as a superhero he had to keep his distance from a civilian for both of their safety.

But the thoughts he had in the privacy of his own head were another matter, and here was what he concluded: he finally understood what his powers were for. The strength of his back and arms and shoulders was no longer a burden, a mark of his unwanted destiny, but a tool he could use to keep Indrid safe, maybe to be worthy of an admiring glance. 

Duck had to try very hard not to show off too much, finding excuses to lift heavy things, and God help him if the carnival had come to town and he could win prizes with the hammer game. His secret identity would be blown and it would be worth it. This well-concealed crush was obsessive in the way his commitment to his destiny had never been. 

Duck left the bathroom cleaner than he’d found it, and decided that he needed to distance himself. Never again could he let Indrid see him so outside the state of normalcy. Besides, there was another person he lay awake thinking of almost as much. Someone who would understand the hero business, the late nights and self-surgery and all the rest of it the way Indrid never could.

\--

One of the city’s other villains - a villain with more initiative than himself, Indrid thought savagely - had put bombs in the basement of the city’s hospital and was threatening to set them off unless the city gave him millions of dollars. 

Indrid was enjoying the rooftop butterfly garden, which had been planted to comfort the cancer patients who were all currently on lockdown. He turned around a moment before he heard the growling voice. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” The Ranger wasn’t as vain about his appearance as some other heroes Indrid knew: his suit was so old it was a little small for him in places, and the forest-green kevlar was faded and bloodstained. And now there was a piece of silver duct-tape on his chest over the rip Indrid had torn the previous day. 

Indrid - but he was the Moth now, even in human form - turned around again. “I promise your heroic efforts would be better placed elsewhere,” he said bitterly. He wasn’t doing anything illegal at the moment.

The Ranger came closer, joining Indrid in looking down at some scraggly milkweed. “That was a mean trick you pulled last night.”

“Which part?”

The Ranger patted the duct-tape on his chest and immediately winced. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you were super-durable,” said Indrid, on the knife-edge of sarcasm and sincerity. 

Duck shrugged. 

“Odds are good that your friend will succeed in talking him down.”

“I figured. That’s why I’m up here with my favorite villain instead of down there.”

Indrid almost cried, at that. They’d flirted so many times, both as Indrid and Duck and as Ranger and Moth, and now that he knew Duck knew who he was, was stalking him under both his names, had _succeeded_ in entwining himself in Indrid’s thoughts both out of costume and in it, the memory made him sick. “Duck, you don’t have to.”

Duck flinched. “How do you know my name?”

Indrid looked up, surprised, though Duck couldn’t see it: Indrid’s mask was stiff aluminum, featureless but for red glass over the eyeholes and narrow slits over the mouth. 

Duck’s mask, meanwhile, only covered his upper face, and so Indrid could see that he was angry. “How do you know my name!?” he repeated. And then he lunged, and had Indrid in a headlock, too fast for him to switch bodies - the Moth wasn’t a match for his nemesis in this narrow human disguise - and Duck’s hands were on the leather straps that held his mask in place over his silver hair. 

Indrid was struggling, he _needed_ his mask, too much of what he thought showed on his face without it - but Duck was stronger, and the aluminum shell clattered to the ground. Indrid looked up at his nemesis with eyes that were red from crying. Duck’s mouth dropped open, but that didn’t make sense, because he _knew_ who Indrid was. Didn’t he?

Duck slammed him hard against the wall of a garden shed, jolting the thought from Indrid’s mind. This was more force than the Ranger had used with him in months. Normally they fought, yes, they pinned each other, they made flirtatious jokes about pinning each other - but now Duck was shaking with fury _._

“How did you get his face?” Duck demanded.

“What?” 

“You heard me. You’re wearing Indrid’s face and you’re doing it just to torture me and -”

“This is my face!” 

Duck’s hand tightened on Indrid’s collar, and the futures changed as rapidly as an iceberg flipping in freezing water, revealing its blue underbelly to the sky. “I know we play a lot of fun games here, Moth, but if you touch one hair on Indrid’s head trying to get to me, _I will kill you._ ”

Fire flooded Indrid’s future-vision, and he started to struggle again, choking himself on Duck’s hand. “No,” he gasped, “you don’t understand -”

\--

Duck was surprised to wake up at all. The last thing he remembered was heat and pain, and the last thing before that was being ready to rip the Moth’s head from his shoulders.

He had thought they had an understanding. He was a hero, and the Moth was a villain, but he wasn’t a particularly malicious villain, as villains went, and though Duck hated to admit it, he wasn’t the most zealous hero himself. The Moth tried to commit crimes, and the Ranger tried to stop him. Assuming the face of the person Duck was weakest for was a new level of cruelty.

That, however, was a concern for a later time, less pressing than the question of _what now,_ now that Duck was awake and seemingly alive. For starters, he was in a bed, and it wasn’t one he recognized. To his left there was a window with the blinds drawn, casting light in slats across the green blanket. 

“You’re awake,” came a soft voice. “It will hurt if you try to move.”

The Moth was sitting in a chair at the end of the bed. His mask was in place again, covering his face with featureless metal.

“Where am I?” said Duck, with a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

“My home,” said the Moth. “I do not intend to harm you or violate your personal dignity in any way,” he continued hurriedly. “Your friends will be here to collect you as soon as they are finished tending to the civilian casualties.”

“What -” said Duck.

“The hospital blew up.” The Moth stood, moved to the window, folded his hands behind his back. “You are lucky, Ranger, that I am a villain.”

“Yeah?” Duck didn’t feel particularly lucky.

“Your friends would have left you to die. Not because they do not love you, but because their loyalty is to the greater good. I, on the other hand, had no compunctions about dragging your sorry body to safety instead of trying to evacuate people I’ve never met and don’t care about.” 

The Moth’s head tilted, and Duck thought not for the first time how unsettling it was not to be able to see his face. He couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. 

“Can I get you anything to drink? Are you hungry?”

Duck groaned and turned his face away. “I didn’t realize you could shapeshift beyond just the two forms.”

“What, you thought this form so unappealing no one would choose it?”

“It’s not about how hot you are.” Duck rubbed at his face in his hands. He didn’t know if the shapeshifter even had a ‘true’ face, given how easily he’d worn Indrid’s. “How did you know? Did you follow me to his apartment?” A thousand new horrors occurred to him. Duck sat bolt upright, sending a wave of pain through his chest, and the Moth was standing by the bed, pressing him by the shoulders back into the mattress. 

“No,” the Moth said, sounding amused. “And, in anticipation of your next question, I did not hurt him.”

“You wouldn’t do something like that, right?”

The Moth took his hands off Duck’s shoulders and turned away again, folded his arms across his chest. “No. I wouldn’t.”

Duck believed him. He’d known the Moth long enough to know he didn’t cause pain for its own sake. Trusted him enough to be on the verge of asking, when it was dark and just the two of them, if he might be willing to remove the mask for the purposes of carrying out a few of his more flirtatious threats.

Lack of knowledge about the Moth’s human face had never stopped Duck from being attracted to him, those narrow shoulders and tight jeans and the voice a little distant from inside his metal mask. A cage, that mask was, like something a knight or a gladiator would wear.

And that wasn’t even touching on the Moth’s other form. He could shapeshift at will, and Duck didn’t know the limit of that power, but he’d only ever seen two: human, and a ten-foot beast with feathers. A beast strong enough to best even the Ranger in a test of strength, a beast whose claws against his skin mingled arousal and fear.

Duck groaned and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t like that the Moth knew his real name - though if he’d asked he might have told him anyway - but he was alive, and fairly certain that it was because the Moth had rescued him.

“Just so we’re clear,” said the Moth. “You think I… am not Indrid Cold?”

“What? I think you, a shapeshifter, assumed his face because he’s important to me.”

“Important to you?”

“Look, Moth, what are you trying to do?”

The Moth shook his head. “You took me to dinner at a ski lodge even though you hate skiing because they have the best French onion soup,” he said softly. “You showed me where the snakes sun themselves on the rocks by the creek behind the visitor’s center, and nobody ever notices. You-”

Realization dawned on Duck with horror. “Take off your mask.”

The Moth’s hands flew to the back of his head. He fumbled with buckles, the straps loosened, and Duck saw the eyes behind the red glass. The Moth cradled his mask in his hands and looked down at Duck with a face he worshipped more than any other in the world. 

“You’re him. Indrid Cold is the Moth.”

He nodded. “I thought you knew. I thought - I thought you were only spending time with me out of costume to get information, to find out how to take me down.”

“Oh, _Moth -_ ”

“Indrid, please, call me Indrid -”

“-Indrid,” said Duck, and stretched out his hands, and Indrid came to him, bumped his forehead against Duck’s palm like a cat and allowed Duck to stroke his hair. “Can I - can I kiss you?” said Duck.

Indrid bent down obligingly and allowed Duck to close the last inch between them. 

He kissed like Duck had imagined Indrid would. The last few people Duck had kissed had tasted like alcohol, and so it was almost strange to have a mouth on his that wasn’t bitter but sweet.

The Moth could handle a tongue shoved in his mouth and Duck’s hand in his shirt yanking him down, and so Duck indulged himself in aggression. He knew the Moth was strong enough to pull away, as he soon did. “You’re hurt,” Indrid said, peeling Duck’s fingers off him.

“Now that I’ve touched you I never want to stop,” said Duck. “Will you… lie down next to me?”

Indrid laughed a little, but moved to the other side of the bed and lay down next to Duck, on top of the covers. Duck took his hand between them and entwined their fingers. “I’m glad it’s you,” said Duck. “I thought I just really had a type.”

“And I thought I had a thing for green uniforms.”

But Indrid had known his real name. “How long have you known?”

“Just since last night. When I saw the wound on your chest and knew I’d put it there. I’m very sorry about that, by the way, I never intended to cut so deep.”

“The worst part was Minerva being disappointed in me.”

Indrid’s mouth twisted in amusement. “What did she say?”

“Oh, you know. _Duck Newton! Were you distracted? Do we need to talk about it?”_ he said, in a passable imitation of her commanding voice. Then Duck shook his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you were… well, you.”

“I suppose I should take pride in the effectiveness of my disguise.”

Indrid squeezed his hand. “I need to get up. In ninety seconds your Chosen friends will break down the door if I’m not there to answer it.” Duck nodded, and Indrid stood and disappeared out the bedroom door.

Duck counted the seconds. “MOTH!” came Minerva’s booming voice from down the hall. “I had assumed from your habit of concealing your face that your appearance was distinctive, but it is not! You are perfectly ordinary!” 

“Where is he?” demanded Leo.

“In here,” said Indrid, and then Minerva was spilling through the doorway, pulling Duck up from the bed into a hug that would have been painful even if he wasn’t injured. 

“I am very glad you survived the explosion! Many people did not!”

“Hello, Ranger,” said Leo, still looking suspiciously at Indrid, who had picked up a pair of red sunglasses since Duck had last seen him, covering his eyes just like the mask had. “The staircase is a bit narrow, but I think we can still carry you out of here. Minerva’s parked out front.”

“You can call me Duck,” said Duck. “He knows.”

“Hi,” said Indrid, when Minerva and Leo both looked at him, giving a little wave. “Indrid.”

“That is your name?” said Minerva. Indrid nodded. “Excellent! My name is Minerva. But you knew that. I do not have a secret identity.”

“So are you, like, on our side now?” said Leo.

Duck tried to meet Indrid’s gaze, but his sunglasses were opaque. They probably should have discussed this. 

Indrid folded his arms across his chest. “Enough. Now, take your hero. I’d like my bed back.”

\--

It turned out that Indrid’s idea of being on the side of good was doing just enough to prevent any other villain from laying a hand on Duck. 

Indrid soared over the city in lazy circles, circling lower and lower as the morning progressed and the Chosen squad faced off against a group of neo-fascists hell-bent on kidnapping the governor. One of them landed a blow with a steel pipe on Duck’s upper arm, and he bent over, clutching it, not broken but sore, and he looked up when no other blows followed it and he heard screaming. 

Indrid had dived out of the air, landing soundlessly behind Duck’s attacker, and was ripping his fucking face off. He sunk his talons into flesh and bent his head to tear at it, coming up with blood all down his front. 

“Holy shit,” said Duck.

The man on the ground was still, and Duck took a step forward. He’d never seen the Moth display such brutality before, but he _recognized_ it, knew it from the possessive parts of himself he tried so hard to suppress.

It was Duck’s first time seeing Indrid in his bestial form since they’d come to their understanding. The outer layer of Indrid’s feathers - pale brown with black markings - was windswept, cool to the touch and smelling like the stratosphere. Duck’s fingertips found something sharp beneath the fluff on his face. A beak. 

“You’re not even a moth,” said Duck. “You’re an owl.”

Indrid huffed. His eyes were large and round, dark orange around black pupils. “I didn’t choose my nickname.”

Duck wiped blood off Indrid’s beak with his thumb and stood on tiptoe to touch his lips to the razor-edge of it.

Police sirens rang out in the distance. Indrid took to the air again, and in a matter of moments was gone.

Then there were hours of meetings with the D.A., in which Minerva and Leo thankfully did most of the talking. It was dark out when Duck finally made it home, but his fatigue evaporated when he found a familiar figure lounging on his couch. 

“Watching you fuck that guy’s shit up was hot as hell.” Duck hugged him from behind, resting his chin on the top of Indrid’s head.

“Yeah?” Indrid covered Duck’s hands with his own.

“You’ve made a lot of fun threats to me over the years.” Threats involving biting and restraining and _using you_ and _putting you through your paces._

“Would you like me to make good on them?” 

“Yes.”

Indrid stood up. With a grin that terrifying, it was a wonder he’d chosen to wear a mask that covered his mouth. And he seemed to know exactly what Duck was interested in: his grip on Duck’s shoulders wasn’t gentle as he guided him backwards into the bedroom, he wasn’t gentle as he pounced and pinned him to the bed. 

“This isn’t the body you usually fight in,” said Duck, breathless nonetheless.

Indrid paused, and for once Duck did not press his advantage. “It hurts,” said Indrid softly, “to switch back and forth. So I’d rather not, unless I really need to.”

“It - I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“Really? I suppose you’ve never been close enough to hear all the bone-crunching.” Indrid gave a little shudder. “And growing feathers itches like hell.”

Duck’s hands were still pinned. “Do you want to talk about it, or…?”

Indrid leaned down, licked a stripe up Duck’s neck and whispered right in his ear, all sex and no malice. “I want to tear you apart.”

Duck grinned and threw his back into it. Soon their positions were reversed, Duck straddling Indrid’s narrow hips and pinning his wrists to the mattress.

All of the possessiveness that Duck had suppressed when he thought Indrid was a civilian roared to life. A villain could handle it. He wanted Indrid to be _his,_ with a collar around his neck if there was no other way to restrain him. He wanted to teach him who he belonged to, carve his name into his lungs and his heart and his spine so all the things that made him live said DUCK. 

Duck’s nails dug into Indrid’s wrists as the fantasies roared through him, and it took him a moment to notice that Indrid had stopped fighting, lay beneath him with his head thrown back and his neck exposed. 

“Why’d you stop?” said Duck. 

“It became the option with the most favorable futures.”

Duck recoiled, suddenly disgusted with himself. Good job, real heroic move, making wanting Indrid not to do crimes _rapey._ “Are you -” If Indrid didn’t know that this was all just a game, thought that he needed to submit to make things easier for himself, thought Duck would hurt him less if he went along with it… “I’m sorry, I’m not going to make you do anything -”

“Ah,” said Indrid. “You misunderstand me. Much as I enjoy our grappling, and I _do,_ right now I’d enjoy you having your way with me more.”

Duck actually growled. “I’m gonna fuck you so well you’re never gonna steal another painting or -” he punctuated the threat with a kiss “-ugh, knock out any more power lines or…”

“Your cock is that powerful a force of good?”

“I’ll keep you on a leash if I have to, collar with my name on it around that pretty neck, no more villainy now you’re _mine.”_

“And by the same stroke you mark yourself as mine.”

“What?”

“You heard me. As your pet villain, Duck, I am the opponent who consumes you, above all others. You are _my_ nemesis. _Mine_.” Indrid twisted his hand in the collar of Duck’s shirt - why was he still wearing a shirt - and yanked him down.

“Yours,” Duck agreed, and kissed him again. 

\--

“You would never have been actually able to kidnap me,” said Duck as Indrid bound his hands behind his back. He was wearing his park ranger uniform; they were playing that the Moth had captured Duck Newton the civilian.

“It certainly would have been a troublesome endeavor.” Indrid tugged gently at the rope. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

Indrid stood up and slipped his mask on. He stood straight and tall, hands folded calmly behind my back. Duck arranged his face into a snarl. “Minerva will not be happy with you for this, Moth.”

“Small comfort for you that will be. How many hours do you think it will take her to find us? How many hours to even notice you’re missing, Duck? There is so much I could do between now and then.”

Duck thought. His voice softened. “How about I make you a trade?”

“Oh?” The Moth’s voice betrayed no emotion. “And what do you think you have that I would want?”

Duck parted his thighs.

The Moth laughed. “Eager, are we?”

“Eager for my freedom.” 

“I don’t know, there was so much else you could have offered. Money. Information. And yet… it’s almost like you _want_ me to fuck you, and will take whatever excuse presents itself.”

“You flatter yourself.”

“Do you retract your offer?”

Duck raked his gaze over the line of muscle visible on the Moth’s narrow upper arms, the way his thin shirt clung to his chest, his tight black pants. The mask kept his face well-hidden, but the rest of his body was on full display. “No. Do you accept it?”

Indrid moved forward, put his thumb against Duck’s lips. Duck opened his mouth easily for it. “I do. But I do not think I will take the chance of untying you, however much fun I might be able to have with more of your holes. Your mouth for your freedom.”

Duck nodded, sucking at the tip of Indrid’s thumb. Indrid pulled away and he whined, but Indrid just crossed the room and came back with a piece of fabric. 

“I don’t even get to look at you?” said Duck as Indrid tied the blindfold around his eyes. The darkness that settled in was warm and comforting.

“Hostages don’t get to see my face. And you’re not in much of a position to negotiate, are you?” Indrid’s hand ghosted over Duck’s throat, not pressing down, just a reminder. He must have taken off his mask, because then his soft lips pressed for a moment against Duck’s. “Are you going to be good for me?”

Duck smiled. Blind and bound, Indrid’s voice was his whole world. “Of course. I’m not the villain here.”

“You’d better. Because do you know what I’ll do if you try to bite me?” Indrid leaned in so close Duck could feel his hair brushing against his cheek, voice barely a breath in his ear. “I’ll tear you apart.”

Duck shivered. That was one of his favorite threats, and Indrid knew it. He heard a zipper and allowed his mouth to fall open. In a moment he tasted Indrid’s cock, salty against his tongue, and hollowed his cheeks to suck. 

“Oh,” said Indrid. “You’re so good for me.” He sank his fingers in Duck’s hair. “Is that why the whole city loves you? They know how good you are with your mouth?” Duck hummed a little and swirled his tongue. “Or is this just for me?”

 _Just for you,_ Duck thought. Then Indrid pulled suddenly on his hair and he choked. 

“Shh,” Indrid said. “You can be as messy as you need. Just let me use you.”

Duck closed his eyes beneath the blindfold and allowed his jaw to slacken, spit dripping down his chin as Indrid fucked his face, taking his time, fast and then slow and then fast again, not overeager to finish. 

When he did finish he came half in Duck’s mouth and half down his chin. Duck licked what he could off his lips, but could only imagine how obscene he looked. “Let me go, Moth. We made a deal.”

Indrid’s voice came now from somewhere on the other side of the room. Cleaning himself up, probably. “You didn’t give me a time limit. I am not finished with you yet, Duck.”

Duck groaned, jaw already sore. Enough games. The ropes around his wrists snapped easily. The first thing he did was reach up and pull up the blindfold. 

Indrid was only a few feet away, fully dressed again, put-together but for the look in his eyes. He lunged for his mask, wanting to hide himself again, but Duck was too fast, leaping up and catching him by the shirt.

“That’s not possible,” Indrid said. “Who are you?”

“The last time we tangled, Moth, I was wearing a mask as well.”

“The Ranger,” Indrid breathed. “You could have escaped at any time. And you could now, but somehow I don’t think you’re going to. 

Duck kissed him hard, then, and Indrid’s lips parted eagerly. “You _are_ a criminal,” Duck said, imagining he was seeing Indrid’s face for the first time, those angular cheekbones and perfect lips. Indrid looked almost shy. “Depriving the world of that face.”

“And I suppose you’re going to bring me to justice?”

“Unless there’s something you’d like to offer me.”

Clever villain that he was, Indrid sank to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on tumblr @bellafarallones


End file.
